With The Stars
by haveyouseenmyhaggis
Summary: Set pre-series one, the Doctor travels a lot to hide from the pain of losing everything. Only one little girl helps him face the tears.


**Title: With The Stars**

**Summary: Set pre-Series One, the Doctor travels to try and find an escape from his own pain, but a young girl finally helps him face his tears. **

**Author's Note: Because I'm trying to remember everything about Hitler's rise to power. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Doctor Who._**

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Sometimes, when the pain got too much, he'd go somewhere with even more suffering just to escape. He'd go and hide in a world where he wasn't the only one to hurt. He'd wander the streets of a war-ravaged town, helping the wounded, comforting the scared just to focus on helping someone else rather than feeling sorry for himself. He tried to make something good come out of something bad.

He struggled to let himself face the fact that he needed to sit down and think about his own loss. He needed time to breathe. He didn't want to accept that so he just carried on. Sometimes he'd visit a city where people were dying one by one from a plague. He'd try and help in what little way he could. He'd wait and watch and help.

Just once on such a trip, someone saw his pain, rather than their own. That person desperately wanted their life to be easier and better, but she could see his agony too. An agony he was denying.

"Why do you want to help me?" the young child asked, brown eyes large and curious.

The Doctor smiled but it didn't reach his eyes, "Because I want to make things better."

"You want to make the country better?" the child asked incredulously. "Are you a politician? Mama said not to trust politicians because they just make a mess of things." There was silence for a few moments and the pair listened to the sounds of gunfire nearby. A riot.

"I'd be inclined to agree," the Doctor nodded wearily, "No, I'm not a politician. I'm a doctor."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then why are you hurting?" the little girl asked, staring intently at him. She was so thin that it was painful to look at – malnourishment, the Doctor knew. The small note of money in her hand was worthless. One Mark wouldn't buy her anything in a country with such bad inflation that even a postage stamp cost one million Marks. This girl couldn't afford food.

"Why am I hurting?" the Doctor repeated, bewildered. Never before had he been asked a question like that – particularly from a person so young.

"Yes," the girl nodded, her thin dirty hair hanging limply over her shoulders.

"Because…" the Doctor trailed off looking tortured. He didn't like thinking about everything that had happened. It just made everything seem so vivid and sharp – almost like a knife cutting into him.

"I thought doctor's would have the cure to pain," the girl said, brow furrowed as she tried to solve the mystery. "I thought doctor's would be happy."

"Sometimes a doctor can see too much," he replied morosely. His eyes were clouded with years of pain he'd tried to hide.

"Maybe you should stay with me!" she grinned, her face lighting up, "Then you'll be better soon! Mama said Hitler will make this country better! She said she'll vote for him and he can make us all better! Then we can have food! And Dada can get a job again." The hope in her voice was infectious. The Doctor couldn't help but believe she was right. And of course, she _was _right. Hitler would get Germany back on her feet again, but the consequences were just as hard to bear.

"I don't stay in one place long, I'll move on soon," the Doctor said, by means of turning down her offer, "But I hope it works out for you."

"I know what's wrong with you," the girl said after a moment of quiet.

The Doctor blinked, "What?"

"You've lost people too. You look the same as Dada did when he came home from the Great War," she explained. "Did you fight in the Great War too?"

The Doctor shook his head and said, "I fought in a war a long, long way from here. And… and I lost everyone."

"Everyone?"

"Yes," the Doctor said, trying to talk over the lump in his throat. He shouldn't be talking to an eight-year-old child about this. She didn't need to hear this.

"That's a lot of people," the girl reflected, horrified.

"It is," the Doctor said resting his head back against the wall they were sitting beside. The girl didn't say anything; she just took his hand and held it tightly. The Doctor smiled at her slightly and felt his eyes filling with tears. Here was a child who was living in a nightmare every single day holding his hand and trying to make him feel better – something good coming from something bad.

"What's your name?" the Doctor asked.

"Tiffany," she replied softly. They sat together in the darkening city and tried not to hear the sounds of the suffering. People were crying, screaming and begging – all hoping things would get better.

"Mama said it's okay to cry," Tiffany said after a while, peering up at the Doctor through the gloom.

"Where is your mama?" the Doctor wanted to know.

"Away for the day. She always is out during the day," Tiffany explained, "She'll back when the stars are out." They looked to the skies and realised the stars were not yet shining in the dusk.

"She won't be long then," the Doctor said gently, squeezing her hand.

Tiffany smiled sadly, "No, she won't."

Ten minutes later, Tiffany looked up at the sky and grinned, "Mama's back."

The Doctor looked around for any sign of another person approaching them. Seeing that, Tiffany shook his arm, "No! Look!" She pointed up to the sky, where the first stars were just appearing, twinkling and glistening.

The Doctor caught his breath as he understood. Tiffany's mother was dead. He mentally cursed himself for not realising. "She's with the stars?"

"Yes," Tiffany said, eyes glistening. "She comes to watch me every night."

Both the Doctor and Tiffany cried that night.


End file.
